


Aftermath

by Filth_As_Divinity



Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Choking, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I wouldn't call it GRAPHIC, Incest, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest, Vaginal Fingering, more like moderate descriptions of wounds and their first aid, the graphic depiction of violence is because of wound care post-fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-22 06:36:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21071384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filth_As_Divinity/pseuds/Filth_As_Divinity
Summary: Hansel and Gretel clean up after a fight, both physically and emotionally.What I intended to write: 1500-ish words of dirty, smutty, pwp.What I actually wrote: 5600-ish words of dirty, smutty, pwp.Cool.





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> This is straight up incest, and there's no recognition of that in the fic (as in, neither of them think about it). As stated in the tags, the violence tag is because there's some moderate description of wounds and wound care throughout the story. As a side note, I didn't actually research jack for this, so don't consider it accurate first aid information. Between the incest, the choking, and the first aid descriptions, please take care of yourself in regards to reading. Finally, this is unbeta'd, and I bet you can tell.

Camp was a simple process that night - a decent sized fire, a cold ration dinner because they were too tired to cook, a pot of water heating up for first aid, and the two of them satisfied with another job done. Battered, soaking in post-adrenaline drunkenness, tallying their injuries and expended ammo, but satisfied. Or, mostly.

Despite the fight being done, Hansel could see the stress in every line of his sister’s body. Muscles coiled with tension, eyes flitting restlessly to every noise in the woods, breath coming faster than it should for sitting around a fire. The woods were clean of evil; it wasn’t that. The two of them had done a thorough job of cleaning the place up, and two witches and their pet Big Angry Wolf-Bear-Crocodile Hybrid later, the forest no longer stank like witch or oozed with danger. No, it wasn’t fear, cold and oily and insidious, under Gretel’s skin that night. 

This job had taken a toll on the both of them. Hansel was missing a not-insignificant amount of flesh from his thigh where that unholy creature had bitten him, only letting go when Gretel had run her nastiest knife between its ribs. Even that hadn’t brought it down, and it tore out enough of Hansel’s leg that he was limping. Besides that, he was pretty sure that he had a cracked rib, a concussion, and bone bruises from his collarbone to his left wrist. 

Gretel had fared a little better, dexterous battle goddess that she was. A cut across her forehead looked worse than Hansel knew it was and all of her flesh had managed to stay attached to her body. She was favoring her right shoulder when she thought he wasn’t looking, though. He wasn’t sure what that was about, and Gretel wasn’t likely to tell him unless it was debilitating. Unsurprisingly, it rarely was with her. Other than the shoulder, he could see a cut in the calf of the pants she was wearing, stained all around with enough blood that she might need stitches, and one of the witches had magicked a tree trunk to slam her in the solar plexus hard enough that Hansel knew there had to be a nasty bruise under her shirt. 

The pot of water on the fire was finally about to boil. Hansel regretted sitting down before everything was ready as he heaved himself off his seat with a groan. Unrolling their medical kit next to the fire, he regretted even more that it had been too late to make it back to town for a real bed, but… sometimes, after nasty jobs, it was better to have some space away from people. For a lot of reasons.

Gretel had stood up the moment Hansel had opened up the kit, albeit with much less noise than he had. She kicked off the boots that Hansel had watched her loosen earlier, and her jacket soon followed, though he could see her cautious, gentle movements out of the corner of his eye when she pulled it off of her one shoulder. The armor-like corset was next, and there was no more watching her out of the corner of his eye - Hansel stared openly and unabashedly. He knew from the faint smirk at the corners of Gretel’s mouth and the way her fingers worked more languorously over the laces that she knew he was watching. That didn’t bother either of them.

Hansel knew that cleaning the bite in his thigh was like as not going to have him falling off of his seat anyway, so he sat down on the ground. Leaning back against a stump and stretching his maimed leg out in front of him as comfortably as he could, he worked the laces on his own boots, though he didn’t take his eyes off of Gretel. Once her corset was loose enough, she let it shimmy over her hips and down her long legs to step out of it. She still didn’t give anything away, but Hansel knew that she would have taken it off over her head if she wasn’t hurting. Gretel’s shirt was thin enough for Hansel to make out her sweet curves in the firelight - the slope of her hips, the swell of her breasts, especially her nipples as they hardened against the fabric of her shirt in spite of the evening’s warmth. He could also still make out the tight strain inside of her.

Fight adrenaline wound Gretel up hard, and there were precious few ways to ease her back down. It came over her particularly badly when one of them almost died (again), or when the witch didn’t put up enough of a fight (though these two had been plenty), or when the two of them fought like orchestrated halves of a whole (which was more and more often lately), or Hansel saved her life (catching the second witch around her throat before she could sink her teeth into Gretel’s probably counted), or… well… Hansel would admit that these nights were frequent recently.

And on these nights, Gretel would watch him with deadly focus. Tension and need would snake through her and overflow into him. They’d bandage up their wounds with more errant touches than usual - his hand lingering in her hair with gentle pressure, her fingers trailing over whole parts of him as readily as the injured parts. And then she’d be on him before he could think. The predatory energy hummed inside of Gretel now, and Hansel knew exactly where this night was headed.

Still, this was the warm up, and he knew she was toying with him. Gretel’s fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt, and she inched it up impossibly slowly: over her smooth belly, her ribs - Hansel took a second to wince at the nasty bruise from the tree trunk forming over much of her torso - and then, finally, up over her breasts. He let Gretel get away with easing the shirt over her good shoulder before slipping it carefully off of the bad one. Part of his brain cataloged the fact that he didn’t see any damage from the front of her, but the vast majority was devoted to watching the fire play a soft glow over her magnificent body. Every inch of her was toned and smooth and lovely, and Hansel had always found the scars from battles past to be sexy. Just like she found his. 

He came to his senses for a second when Gretel’s hands moved to the laces of her pants. A glance up caught her eyes - how long had she been staring back at him? - and he made to stand up to help her, to get his hands on her just as they started to tremble, before pain in his thigh and rib pressed him back with a grunt.

“Don’t,” Gretel murmured, just loud enough to cross the feet between them. “I can undress myself, thank you, and undress you, too, in a minute.” Her fingers worked her pants open a little faster then, and Hansel leaned back against his stump to open his shirt. 

It turned out that the closures on his armored tunic had been holding a helpful pressure on the cracked rib and popping it open sent sparks of pain up his side, but his breathlessness had less to do with the pain and much more to do with Gretel finally slipping her pants and underwear off of her lithe legs in the same moment. Her hands had started to shake too, Hansel noted, and she didn’t seem to pay much mind to how badly her calf wound must have hurt when she got her pants over it and off into her pile of clothing. 

Hansel wanted her attention back on him. “Those look mendable, if we can get the blood out.” It wasn’t exactly the most pressing issue in his mind, although the pair of pants that he was wearing were going to have to be trashed, and that was irritating. Still, the comment got Gretel to look at him again, nothing left to hide her skin from the firelight and heat of the summer night. 

Even when she shrugged and started to make her way over to him, he couldn’t lift his eyes from her graceful hips, her strong thighs, the way she practically glowed. Hansel was dizzy with her beauty - though something told him that that was also blood loss - and the second she got close enough to touch, he reached for her. Gretel came to her knees next to him, and it wasn’t until she ran her fingers through his hair, until she finally touched him, that he realized how hard he was in his pants. The self-assured smirk that danced over Gretel’s fair face told him that she realized too.

“Hey,” he breathed out, once he had his hands on her hips, and her hands on either side of his face. On other nights, they might have pressed their foreheads together, which they’d done since they were children seeking comfort and the feel of the other’s breath, but the cut on Gretel’s forehead looked a little angrier up close. That was fine, Hansel could settle for kissing her instead.

Her lips were so warm and soft against his. The kiss was gentle, with both of them keeping a tentative grip on self control. It breached their usual pattern, kissing this early. They had wounds to bandage, gear to clean... Hansel didn’t give a shit, honestly, and from the way that Gretel was nipping at his bottom lip and pressing her tongue into his mouth, he didn’t think she cared either.

One of them tasted faintly of blood, and Hansel wasn’t entirely sure who until one of his hands brushed over Gretel’s jaw and she drew a faint, pained breath. Hansel wouldn’t have caught it if his lips weren’t over hers. There was no bruise yet, but it had started to swell a little. She didn’t stop kissing him, though, so he stopped fighting her tongue against his and adjusted his grip on her until he had his fingers tangled in her hair. The little hum in the back of her throat sent warmth through him, and Hansel couldn’t stop himself from pulling her in closer, from closing the distance between their bodies.

Unfortunately, Gretel steadied herself with a hand to his chest, and fire seared across his collarbone and down his side. A whimper of pain slipped from his mouth to hers; he had never been as tough as his sister. Losing her hand on him probably wasn’t worth the simultaneous relief from pain, but Gretel pulled back anyway and broke their kiss. 

“It’s fine,” Hansel grunted, craving her against him again, but Gretel shook her head. The distance between them fortified their self-control; Hansel let his hand fall out of her hair to get himself together, although he couldn’t quite let go of where his other thumb was running circles over her hip bone. Gretel was still tense and focused - lust made him hazy and her sharp - and she tugged lightly at the shirt hanging on his shoulders. He leaned forward as best he could so that she could slide it down his arms and back, grateful that he could turn his face away to hide a grimace.

She snorted at him anyway. “Fine, sure. Was it just me, or did I hear a rib crack when that monster collided with you the first time?” The damned shirt was off, finally, and Hansel eased back into a recline, the wood of the stump rough against his bare back, with as casual of a look and shrug as he could muster. That earned him an outright chuckle from Gretel, but her hands on the battle dressing over his thigh sobered them both quickly. This part was the worst.

“You know, we could just leave that for later?” Hansel knew they couldn’t, but his voice held a hopeful note anyway. “A little sex and a little alcohol will help take the edge off of the mess that’s about to be.” He thought the wound might still be bleeding, actually, and he was totally sober, and he really, really didn’t want to deal with cleaning it out. Gretel was going to insist though, and a hint of fear made Hansel slip his fingers lower, toward the juncture of her thighs, in a last ditch effort to distract her.

She was faster than him, and much better at resisting temptation. Steady hands caught his wrist and pushed him away in the nick of time, and Gretel rose to grab their med kit, the pot of boiling water, and the knife they used for first aid when they didn’t need it for murdering things. “We have to, Hansel.” She didn’t look happy about it, but she settled back down closer to his knee and began to cut the dressing away.

It wasn’t good, he knew, which was why he’d done the emergency wrapping himself before Gretel could get eyes on it. As it was, she had a far more sympathetic look on her face than she usually afforded him, which told him how bad it was. 

“Pants are done for,” she murmured, almost to herself. Then, a little more directly, “I’m going to cut these off, at least from this leg, so that you don’t have to try and get them over this mess.”

Hansel had enough left in him to crack a flirty smile. “Cutting my pants off, darling? How delightfully domineering.” If he could have leaned forward to touch her, he would have, but his rib protested. 

Gretel rolled her eyes and started to slide the knife oh-so-carefully up the outside thigh of his pants. Truthfully, he’d only have ever trusted Gretel, with her sure hands and practiced movements, to get a knife this close to his crotch, and he held perfectly still as she cut through the material over his hip and waist. She sliced through the rest of the pant leg easily enough and peeled the material away from his leg from hip to ankle. 

He’d been right, the wound was still oozing a tiny bit. The spots where the creature’s teeth had pierced him weren’t terrible on their own, though there were a surprising number of them on the front and side of his thigh, but it had come away with enough of him that it was the worst wound Hansel had gotten in a while. Gretel touched a clean cloth to the wound, trying to get a better handle on how bad it was, and he had to lock his jaw and tip his head back against the tree stump to keep from shouting.

The alcohol in medical kit was only meant for drinking in desperate times, but Gretel must have thought this qualified, because she pressed the bottle into his hand. “You’re right, you shouldn’t be sober for this. Drink a little of that before I use it to clean you up.” Hansel nodded and pulled deeply from the bottle. It was utterly disgusting, but better than doing this without it. He passed the bottle back to Gretel hesitantly, knowing what came next.

Her gaze caught his when their fingers touched on the bottle and Hansel read a million things in Gretel’s eyes.  _ I’m sorry that I have to do this to you. I’m sorry that I didn’t stop that beast before it hurt you. I wish we were somewhere, anywhere, else. I wish we could ignore this and be in each other’s arms. If only… _ But it was like that between them, always had been. They could share more in one look than most people could in a whole letter. He knew that his eyes held every necessary reply.  _ It’s okay. No one but you. I wouldn’t trade this for the world. I trust you. As long as you’re here with me… _

The alcohol burning rivers down his leg shocked him, and Hansel barely choked on a scream before shoving his forearm against his mouth and screwing his eyes shut. Gretel had always preferred to  _ do _ , rather than threaten and count down and brace. Some distant part of Hansel’s mind heard the alcohol pouring, felt the liquid over his skin and his sister’s steady hands pressing cloth to him, but all he could think about was the pain. 

Either the thought consumed him, held him in some unstable purgatory outside of time, or he blacked out for a minute or two, because the next thing he knew, Gretel was pulling his face into her chest. He shook like a leaf against her, for as much as that shamed him, and gasped for air through dry, shuddering sobs while the pain in his leg faded to a dull throb. It took all of his power to focus on Gretel’s fingers running through his short hair, on her warm skin against his forehead, on the way her clavicle rose and fell with her breath. But as surely as she always did, she steadied him. 

He brought a shaky arm up to circle Gretel’s waist, never mind the bruising all down its length. The rib kept him from pulling her tight against his torso, but his fingers dug into her low back as he pressed his face to her naked body. She let him stay like that for a long time - people thought of her as hard and callous, and maybe she was with others, but never with him. Not when it counted. Eventually, Hansel was steady enough to press a light kiss between her breasts, right at the top of the bruise that started there and ran almost to her belly button. 

Her skin was a little salty from the warm day and the hot fight, a little woodsy from their camp last night, and a lot perfect. If anything could take his mind off of things, it was Gretel’s body in his arms.. Hansel’s free hand came up to run, feather light, over her side until he could graze her breast with his fingertips. She shivered in the circle of his arm and pressed her chest forward the tiniest bit, careful of his side. Palming her breast gently, his lips latched onto a spot above the other side of her chest and sucked a mark there before kissing his way down. The moment he got one of her sweet, hard nipples in his mouth, Hansel pinched the other between his thumb and forefinger and reveled in the gasp he pulled from Gretel’s throat.

“You’re a lech,” Gretel ground out above him. Her hips rocked forward the tiniest bit, though, into nothing but the space between their bodies.

Hansel didn’t pull his mouth away until after a tiny bite to Gretel’s nipple, and was rewarded with another sharp buck of her hips. “I think it’s ‘lecher’.” His tone was smug, he knew, even as Gretel frowned in disagreement and wound her fingers in his hair to pull and get his mouth busy again on her skin. Gripping her ass in one hand and her breast in the other, Hansel sucked a line from her chest to her lips and kissed her deeply. 

Her eagerness was finally starting to spill from the cracks in her composure - from the wounds on her body and from her trembling hands and from her wired mind. Her mouth against his was hot and fierce, nipping at his lips and pressing her tongue against his like she could kiss his soul. Hansel would have let her if he could have. He tried to give as good as he got, running his hands over as much of her as he could reach and pressing his mouth to hers with all the frenzy building in him. He thought he’d finally broke open the dam in Gretel, finally gotten her to let go with him, but then she tried to sit back on her heels.

She rocked back up immediately, almost cracking their faces together before Hansel broke their kiss. Her expression was set in what he recognized as her poker face, and her jaw was tight from pain. Right, her calf. 

With a sigh, Hansel withdrew his wandering hands. “Let’s deal with one of yours now, shall we?”

Always the braver, steadier, steelier sibling, Gretel nodded and dragged the first aid kit and the still-hot water to within his reach. That done, Hansel pushed at her until she laid back away from him, on the opposite side as before. She was bare against the grass, still faintly flushed, and it was easy to be distracted by every inch of her, spread out for him. A kick against his good leg - thank god he’d made her switch sides - helped him focus as he gripped her injured leg and pulled it into his lap. 

Gretel held still then, and Hansel loved how gentle she was when he was hurt. He nudged her to roll onto her side, facing away from him, so that he could take a close look at the three-inch gash running diagonally down the back of her leg.

“It’s not bad,” he informed her. “It’s deep enough that I think we should stitch it, though. Eight or ten should do it.” Only a faint twitch in the muscles under Hansel’s hands showed Gretel’s displeasure at the idea. He ran a comforting hand up and down the rest of her leg for a moment before snagging the alcohol, a bandage, and the needle and thread from the kit. She always preferred that he just do the work, no comforting or coddling, so he soaked a cloth in the alcohol and cleaned the cut out as efficiently as he could. Gretel huffed a few tense breaths, but otherwise didn’t react.

Hansel hated that helping her had to hurt her, too. He squeezed her knee for a second, more for him than for her, and threaded the needle. “Stitches now. Hold still.” He didn’t need to tell her - she knew, even facing away from him on the ground - but he did anyway.

The stitches went in easy, like they always did, with the only sign of Gretel’s pain being the fist that she clenched tight until it was over. He tied the bandage over the closed cut and was about to let his hands wander up her lovely legs when he noticed it. 

Her shoulder was at just a hint of a weird angle. How had he missed that when she’d laid down? To be fair, he’d had her leg to deal with, but…

“Gretel.” His tone was accusatory and she glanced back at him with enough of a guilty look that she clearly knew what he’d noticed. “Gretel, is your shoulder dislocated?”

She grimaced and moved her leg out of his lap, careful not to kick his thigh. “No.” Her tone was confident, and he almost snapped at her, but when she sat up to face his frown, he realized that he couldn’t see the damage from the front because it probably wasn’t all the way out. Still, Hansel narrowed his eyes at his sister until she sighed and shrugged with her good shoulder.

“It’s not!” she insisted. “Not all the way, at least.” The last was just a mutter, but she reached a hand out for him to take anyway. He grasped her wrist firmly with one hand and dug the other into the spot where her arm met her torso, grumbling the whole time.

“If you had told me, we could have fixed this an hour ago.” He started the familiar push-and-pull pressure (dislocations were easy come, easy go in this job) and Gretel rolled her eyes, relaxing into his touch.

“We had more urgent matters, idio- ugh.” Her shoulder popped back in with little more than a grunt from the both of them. Hansel reached around her body, touching the whole area lightly to make sure everything was back in place.

Satisfied, he slid a hand up to hold her in the place where her neck met her shoulder and rubbed his thumb up and down the column of her throat. Gretel’s eyes zeroed in on him again, the tension never far from her. For no more than the next second, Hansel took stock of their remaining injuries. He’d wrap his rib tomorrow. The cut on Gretel’s face was small enough to not even warrant bandaging. Nothing they could do about their bruises or the knot on the back of his skull. Meeting her eyes, he could tell that Gretel had come to the same conclusion he had - nothing else needed their attention more than each other.

That’s when she  _ finally _ broke. Hansel watched her restraint snap in the space between one breath and the next and, damn, if he wasn’t hard and ready for her in the same instant. Ignoring the sharp shot of pain in almost his entire left side, he reached over and gripped her hips hard, tugging her to straddle him. There was just enough space between his hips and the bandaging of his thigh wound for her to grind against him, and a triumphant growl bubbled up from inside her. 

He didn’t have to pull her mouth down to his - she was kissing him hard and fast while one of her hands came up to wrap around his throat and the other rested on his shoulder to steady herself. Her grip wasn’t tight enough to stop his air, and Hansel didn’t bother pulling back from her. She was reassured by the pulse hammering against her fingers, for now. Instead, he moved a hand between her legs. The time for soft touches and sweet teasings was over.

Parting her with his fingers, Hansel pressed over her clit and tried not to grin when she moaned against his mouth. Her hips pressed forward into his hand, and he couldn’t help but push further into her wetness. She was practically dripping for him, making it easy to slip one finger inside of her while his thumb rocked over her clit again. 

Gretel gasped and bucked, her hand around his throat tightening minutely. He worked her for just another second or two before she was panting something that sounded like ‘more’, so he slid a second finger into her. Her pussy was tight and hot around his fingers as she started to work herself on them. Every grind of her hips put exquisite pressure on his cock through the ruined fabric of his pants and he had to get space from her mouth to catch a breath.

Hansel’s eyes were half closed, his mind hazy with pleasure, and the sweet, desperate noises that Gretel made washed over him in heavy waves. She was shaking from head to toe, every muscle coiled like a spring. Her fingernails dug into his shoulder, and the hand on his throat was tightening with every thrust of her hips into his hand. Both of them were breathing in harsh, staccato gasps, and he knew the only way to bring her down.

Pressing a third finger into her, Hansel hooked them into her spot and dragged his thumb over her clit roughly. Gretel sobbed and lost any semblance of tempo grinding against him, so he gripped her hip tightly and rocked her forward as fast as he could. It wasn’t until she was clenching down on his fingers, screaming his name, cumming against him that he realized he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t care.

The ferocity of her orgasm tore through the both of them. Gretel filled every sense, every corner of his mind. He was dizzy, foggy, and the faintest black spots bloomed in his eyes over the image of his goddess. Pleasure danced in him, getting distant from his mind, and he was faintly aware of his hands falling away from Gretel’s body when she suddenly let go of his throat.

A desperate breath brought oxygen and pleasure tearing through him like fire. He barely recognized the rasping groans that ripped from his throat, barely kept himself from cumming almost untouched, barely controlled his hands as they pushed away the fabric between his body and Gretel’s and dragged her into place over his cock. She met him eagerly, gripping him around the base and sinking down onto him with a cry that came from both of them. She was so perfect around him. Only her hand, tight at the base of him, kept him back from the edge while he dragged in another deep breath and leaned into her chest as best as he could manage. The jolt from his rib was enough ‘bad’ pain to bring him back under control, and his hands dug bruises into her hips as he began to guide her up and down on his cock.

She took over easily, changing the pace and angle to one that had them groaning together. Hansel managed to unlock one hand enough to drag it back to her clit, and the other to drag one of hers back to his throat. He met her eyes through the burning inside of him, knowing that a look could do as well as words, and hungry pleasure had her tightening around his throat and his cock with a dark grin.

It wouldn’t be long now. His fingers pinched and rubbed and pressed at Gretel’s clit, and her fingers sealed his airway. She was close. He could feel it in the tremble of her body and the way her cunt clenched down on him, could see it in the wild freedom on her face as his eyes fell closed. He was too, even as that dizziness washed over him and the black spots started in the corners of his eyes. Hansel knew what she needed, and after another second or two of the heat building in them, he gave it to her. 

“I love you,” he gasped out, with the last of his breath, and pushed against the hand on his throat to bite a sharp mark on her collarbone. 

Gretel came apart. Hansel felt her shake all over as all of her muscles tensed and finally,  _ finally _ , after everything, relaxed in a wave. He even felt her crying out, but the roaring in his ears drowned everything out but the pounding of his heart. His body was so distantly far away. In the last throes of her orgasm, Gretel released his throat and clenched down on his cock, and he slammed back into himself.

Hansel sucked in enough air to shout as he slammed his hips up into Gretel’s body and came with ecstasy searing his veins. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her into him, too far gone to care if she angled away from his left side or not. Pleasure rushed through him and he poured everything he had into her. 

It was hard to tell how long it took for him to come back to himself. Gretel’s fingers were trailing circles on the back of his neck while he gasped for breath against her throat, and he could hear her whispering, oh so faintly, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Easing the vice of his arms around her waist, Hansel leaned back against the stump behind him, ignoring the stabbing in his side, and grinned hazily, openly, up at Gretel. She never looked so soft as she did in these moments. The moments after he’d broken her open, shattered her against him, and held her while she put herself back together. Her smile was more breathtaking than anything she did to him in the earning of it. 

“Is it just me, or is the sex better when we’re hurt worse?” He was shooting for a wry tone, but voice came out a little like gravel and probably would for a day or two. 

Bracing her arms on either side of his head against the stump, she leaned down to press soft kisses to his lips, his cheeks, his forehead, humming her agreement between each kiss. He didn’t need her to agree - he knew it was true. They both got a little crazy at the thought of losing the other. Still, the kisses were nice. She wasn’t always very free with affection, so Hansel soaked in this sweetness while he had it, running his hands up and down from her shoulder blades to the curve of her ass.

They stayed like that for a while, trading warmth and touch, until the fire needed tending and the bedrolls laid out. Gretel eased her way off of his lap and left him feeling just a little bereft as she tossed him their sleeping gear and fed and stoked the fire. Figuring he could set up their bedding without actually getting up, Hansel shook the two pallets out next to each other - practically on top of each other - and dragged himself into his, wriggling out of the last, tattered leg of his pants. The warm summer night meant that neither of them were going to put clothes on to sleep, which suited him just fine.

Gretel crawled into bed soon after, curling up with her back against his chest without so much as a teasing comment. She’d be like this until they got back to town, probably, and affection made Hansel press chaste kisses over the back of her neck and shoulder when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in as tight as they could stand.

They were both a second from sleep when, so softly that Hansel barely heard it, Gretel whispered, “Glad you didn’t die.”

It was as close as they got to  _ I love you _ outside of sex, so he gave her a gentle squeeze and simply murmured back, “Yeah. You too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I loved this ridiculous movie, and I love this tiny fandom. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Just a reminder: if you want to try choking in your own sex life, that's awesome! Just please, please, please look up how to do it safely. Just gripping someone's throat and squeezing is super dangerous, so it's good to get some knowledge about not hurting yourself or your partner. I recommend searching 'How to safely choke your partner during sex' and reading several sources to get an idea of what people suggest.


End file.
